


A Recipe for Disaster

by VivaHetalia (Labracadabrador)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:51:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Labracadabrador/pseuds/VivaHetalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The true story of England's Black Magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Recipe for Disaster

_"Eye of Newt, Tail of Rat."_

_"Skin of Deer, Wing of Bat."_

The cauldron boiled and bubbled, hissing with steam lit by an eerie green light. England continued to throw each ingredient into the writhing mass. He chanted them all by name.

_"Ear of Rabbit, Nose of Dog!"_

_"Paw of Monkey, Tongue of Frog!"_

With each ingredient, England's chanting of the spell became louder. It rose in crescendo with the crackle of the flames underneath the iron pot and the popping of each thick gloopy bubble as it rose to the surface and expanded like a boil filled with putrid pus.

 _'At last. No longer will I be ignored. It's perfect! Perfect, I say!'_  Outwardly, he continued his chant, stirring the mix with a cast iron rod caked in red-brown flakes of rust. It made a harsh grating noise where it chafed the pot's bottom, squealing with the sound of nails being dragged down a blackboard.

The stench in the air was unbelievable; it filled the basement with the putrid aroma of half-rotten flesh, mixed with burned hair and burned skin. The flames only rose higher, staining the already black cauldron blacker with soot and scorch marks.

England chanted louder and louder even as the smoke stung his eyes to tears and choked his lungs raw.

_"Bring on the Fire!"_

_"Bring on the Flames!"_

**_"Set it alight, 'til nothing remains!"_ **

His voice had risen to a fever-pitched scream, accompanied in frightful harmony by the grinding of iron on iron and the roar of the fire. The gloop began to solidify on the sides of the pot, scraped back off to float as grey rocky lumps among the ever-thicker concoction.

Alarms blared – the smoke alarm; the fire alarm. England ignored them. They only added their shrill voices to the symphony.

It was enough to alert the only other occupant of the house who rushed down the steps to the basement – the stairs creaked and the footfalls thumped, and then the door slammed open and England finally noticed. He stopped chanting, and the flames seemed to die down a little.

America stared back at him from the doorway with a completely stunned look on his face; his eyes were already beginning to water from the atmosphere.

"What the... the hell are you doing, Iggy?!"

England smiled brightly.

"I was making scones. Do you want one?"


End file.
